


Secret Santa: Mistletoe

by aellisif



Series: Secret Santa Series [5]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Easter Egg Hunt, Established Relationship, Megatron makes sure Good Things happen to Optimus, Mistletoe, Oral Sex, Other, Shower Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Surprises
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aellisif/pseuds/aellisif
Summary: Megatron is really bad at understanding human traditions.Optimus would possibly mind, but the benefits of just letting Megatron get on with it far outweigh the satisfaction of playing teacher.
Relationships: Jazz/Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Optimus Prime, mentioned
Series: Secret Santa Series [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833973
Comments: 52
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since I posted the first story of this series in the middle of summer, I figured I should post something for Christmas, too.
> 
> Also, bmouse mentioned there aren’t enough stories where Nice Things happen to TFP Optimus …

“Well?”

Optimus reset his vocaliser, looked at Bumblebee helplessly and said, “I did not know he did not get permission to bring them here?”

Bumblebee groaned and looked at the sad branches of mistletoe on the table, each of them interwoven with coloured wires. “At least they aren’t protected.”

Optimus agreed. Bumblebee ex-vented. “Dare I ask why Megatron smuggled five branches of mistletoe to Cybertron? As far as I recall, he’s never been a particular fan of anything organic, including plants.”

Optimus reset his vocaliser again. “There – may be more than five?” he said cautiously and Bumblebee groaned again.

“What does he _need_ them for?”

A third vocaliser reset. “I – am supposed to find them.”

Bumblebee stared at him. Optimus looked at the mistletoe instead of him as he carefully ventured, “You see, Megatron has this idea that, given the time of the stellar cycle, I – might need some distraction, so he has hidden mistletoe for me to find in places I frequent.”

Bumblebee’s optics widened. “What, like Easter eggs?”

“Uhm. Kind of?”

A moment of silence.

“Mistletoe is a Christmas thing,” Bumblebee said then, sounding dubious. “Although I seem to recall an occasion where he didn’t quite get how the custom worked either …”

Optimus tried to keep his field from projecting embarrassment and failed, judging by Bumblebee’s snigger. “Yes, well …”

Bumblebee sniggered again. “So he is hiding Christmas Easter eggs for you to find. Because of -”

“The neutral negotiations,” Optimus said, holding back a groan. Bumblebee looked sympathetic. “There is a code.”

“A code?” Now Bumblebee looked intrigued and Optimus started frantically employing his strategic units to find the best phrasing to avoid giving his former soldier too much insight into what Megatron was doing. “So the colours mean different things?”

Optimus decided on one fairly innocent explanation. “Once I have collected a certain number of branches in a certain colour, Megatron will treat me to a surprise.”

“That sounds -” Bumblebee broke off, optics suddenly widening, vocaliser emitting a screech. Optimus startled, staring at him. Waves of embarrassment hit his field before Bumblebee suddenly slammed on all his dampeners and constrained his field to his frame. “Uhm. Okay. You know what? I didn’t see these. I don’t know anything about Megatron bringing them here. And I certainly know nothing about what they mean!”

“Yes?” Optimus could only stare at him as Bumblebee hastened to get up and almost fled to the door of his office.

“Just – make sure you find them before someone else finds them, okay? And keep them out of sight!” he called back before he half ran out and the door slid closed behind him.

Optimus stared at the door, then at the mistletoe, then at the door, and contemplated what had just happened. What reason could there be for embarrassment? Bumblebee could hardly still be embarrassed about the first occasion Megatron had used mistletoe to court Optimus. As far as Optimus recalled, he had not even been embarrassed back then, just very wary of Megatron and his intentions, and also _very_ hesitant to broach the subject of what exactly that mistletoe had entailed …

He looked at the branches again, absently tracing the blue wires adorning the one closest to him. Blue. Hmm … as far as he recalled, the last time he had managed to collect three blue mistletoes, Megatron’s surprise had consisted of a very, very nice spiking …

His processor abruptly brought up three warning flags on his HUD, and the wave of embarrassment was at least as strong as Bumblebee’s had been. Optimus hid his face in his servos and groaned. Oh Primus. He really, really hoped Bumblebee did not know just _what_ Megatron’s surprises consisted of.

Considering his former scout’s reaction, Optimus rated the chances very low.

* * *

Megatron looked very proud as he put the five branches on the rack he had had made specifically for this purpose. “You are very apt at finding them,” he praised, reaching for Optimus and bestowing a kiss to his left audial. “My clever Orion.”

Optimus let him nuzzle the finial and said, “Bumblebee saw them today.”

For some strange reason, there was a flash of amusement in Megatron’s field. “Did he?”

Optimus chose to ignore it and pressed on, “He wondered if you had gotten permission to bring them to Cybertron.”

“They’re a parasitic species needing Earth trees to survive,” Megatron said dismissively. “There is less than a 0.00001% chance that they will cause any harm to Cybertron’s system.”

“Yes, but -” Optimus turned his helm to look at Megatron, who cocked an optic ridge. “We cannot break the rules just for our private pleasures. You know that.”

“Diplomatic presents do not need to be approved unless they represent a danger to Cybertron,” Megatron replied distractedly, having moved on to nuzzling Optimus’ neck cables, who reset his optics.

“You got mistletoe as a diplomatic present? From whom?”

“Agent Fowler.” Megatron went back to nuzzling his finials. “He said he would get me mistletoe if I made sure Soundwave erased all clips of something called a ‘Nyan Cat’ from the human internet.”

“Megatron!” Optimus freed himself, staring at his conjunx in horrified apprehension. “We cannot meddle with the humans’ affairs!”

Megatron waved a dismissive servo. “Please. From what I understood, it is hardly political.”

“We are not supposed to meddle with their culture either!”

Megatron cocked the optic ridge again. “Optimus, Agent Fowler asked me. Do you not trust his judgement?”

Optimus opened his intake, processed and set several reminders to contact June at the earliest opportunity. “Never do that again,” he said seriously and Megatron ex-vented.

“I agreed to it because I was certain that regardless of Soundwave’s endeavours, there would be back-up copies somewhere,” he said dryly. “And I specifically ordered him not to delete any new uploads. Do you really think I have any illusions about being able to properly erase something from the human internet? The caste system did its very best to eradicate my speeches from the grid, and they had much more control over it than any human government.”

“Oh.” Mollified, Optimus moved back into the embrace. “You will not do that again regardless.”

Megatron smirked that terrible (rather attractive) smirk. “I do not foresee any future need for more mistletoe. Now. The negotiations start tomorrow. Do you already have an idea which colour and how many of them you want to trade in?”

Optimus turned his helm and contemplated the rack. Three yellow, one blue and one red mistletoe each. He had yet to find a green one, and he knew there were five of each colour. The problem was that he needed to make strategic decisions – if he chose to trade one yellow mistletoe, he might be treated to a special dinner, but two yellow branches might get him a detailing or an oil bath.

He glanced at Megatron from the corner of his optics. “I suppose three are still good for a spiking?”

Megatron’s smirk grew. “It would not be a surprise if I told you, Optimus.”

He huffed, contemplating the rack again. “How am I supposed to plan if I do not know how much time each surprise will require?”

A digit traced a glyph between his smokestacks and Megatron purred, “I am _certain_ I can squeeze a thorough spiking into the negotiation breaks.”

“Megatron!” Optimus was definitely not as horrified by the declaration as he should have been, but oh well. The neutral negotiations, for all he fully supported the ongoing attempts to draw more former Neutrals back to Cybertron, were a real helm-ache. That was why Megatron had come up with this idea in the first place, and Optimus would have been lying through his denta if he pretended that he did not appreciate his conjunx’ attempts to make the whole ordeal less stressful for him. Especially considering Megatron was not part of the negotiations himself, owing to his own status as Chief Cybertronian Administrator.

Who would have thought running a faction in a four-million-year-long Civil War would teach Megatron the intricacies and pitfalls of administration to the degree that he insisted on making sure Cybertron’s new administrative foundations were laid by him personally …

A source of not insignificant amusement on Optimus’ part. Chief Administrators, however, were not diplomatic representatives and as such, not allowed to be present during diplomatic negotiations.

The source of significant consternation on Optimus’ part whenever negotiations started. He was well aware that he and the other negotiators would have a much easier time of it if Megatron even just sat in the room, casually examining his claws and smirking every now and then.

“Optimus?” his conjunx prompted and he brought his processor back to the task at servo: selecting his surprise treat for the following day-cycle.

“One yellow mistletoe,” he said, conscious that he still had to find the other fifteen branches. Megatron purred and nuzzled his finials again.

“Very well, keeper of my spark.”

Regardless of how often he had heard that particular endearment already, it still made his own spark spin and his frame heat in embarrassment and joy. “Megatron, please.”

“Would you like me to make sure you can start tomorrow’s negotiations with as little charge in your mod as possible?”

Optimus ex-vented, smiling in fond exasperation before putting a deliberate servo on Megatron’s aft. “Who am I to turn down such a gracious offer?”

Megatron smirked.


	2. 1 yellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some tooth-rotting fluff! ^^

“I will _kill_ him,” June said emphatically. “Smother him in his sleep with his own pillow.”

Optimus startled and stared at the screen. “Surely there is no need for such drastic measures?”

June looked startled as well, then she laughed and the connection crackled. Optimus moved a few steps to the side, making sure he was directly beneath the hotspot in the atrium next to the conference room. There were several bots milling around, but Optimus knew for certain that no-one in the Neutral delegation understood English, and the Cybertronian delegates had been briefed that Optimus had to make an important cross-galaxy call during the second break.

“Don’t worry, I won’t really kill him,” June said, grinning. “But he is going to hear it when he comes home! Elita was heartbroken!”

“I can only extend my most sincere apologies,” Optimus said, thoroughly ashamed for Megatron’s actions. “If I had known how Megatron came by the mistletoes – I assumed he had brought them the last time he went to Earth.”

June’s eyes crinkled at the edges when she smiled kindly. “Optimus, it is fine. Elita is five, and the fact that her favourite videos disappeared from youtube for a few days may have looked like a catastrophe to her, but I assure you, there was no lasting damage done. Actually, I’m almost certain that Jack was quite grateful for the break, too.”

“Yes?” Optimus said, wanting desperately to believe her. “Still, Megatron and Soundwave have no business interfering with Earth’s cultural heritage …”

June burst out laughing. “I’m not entirely certain I would refer to the Nyan Cat as ‘Earth’s cultural heritage’. Or, let me phrase it like this: if we are going to consider the Nyan Cat our cultural heritage, then by the same logic, the New Zealanders could adopt ‘They’re taking the Hobbits to Isengard’ as a national anthem, and we should all teach children the HampsterDance.”

Optimus was confused. “I believe I have never heard of either.”

June was still laughing. “And some people would say you missed out, but honestly, you probably haven’t. It’s okay, Optimus, it really is. These are all old internet phenomena, and I’m almost 100% sure that most teenagers these days haven’t got a clue either what they are. They are – part of the internet’s history, doubtlessly important parts, and yes, I’m angry Bill decided he had enough of Elita listening to the Nyan Cat, but honestly, this is hardly the diplomatic catastrophe you seem to think it is. Especially since there was no lasting damage done. For all I can tell, it caused a bit of confusion, the Nyan Cat experienced a short revival and that was that.”

Grinning, she added, “And even if it was a diplomatic indicent, it would certainly pale in comparison to the stir your wedding night caused.”

Optimus was startled into embarrassed laughter and shuttered his optics for a moment. “In our defence, we had no intention of contributing to youtube.”

“There are still bits and pieces of that footage around.” June chuckled when Optimus groaned. “The internet never forgets. Not even when you delete certain videos. Rest assured I will sort this out with Bill, then neither of us will have to be afraid of a repeat incident.”

While Optimus could not help suspecting that he was being coddled, he could not deny that there was a certain relief to be found in knowing that “Nyan Cat” was not code for a military operation or important documents. “I have made very clear to Megatron that he is not to do anything similar again in the future. I am not sure why he agreed to it in the first place.”

“Because he wanted mistletoe, and Bill had this grand idea to rid us all, at least temporarily, of Elita’s favourite song,” June said dryly. “I’m really not all that surprised those two would concoct such a plan. He may be retired now, but Bill was part of Unit:E for so long that he’s used to getting away with stuff others would get into big trouble for, and Megatron is – well, Megatron.”

Optimus recalled all the loopholes several first drafts of laws or administrative procedures had had, loopholes that would permit Megatron specifically to wiggle out of certain situations, and the pout on his conjunx’ face when Optimus gently but firmly closed said loopholes, and agreed with an ex-vent. “Yes, he is still Megatron.”

June chuckled. “Missing him already?”

Optimus glanced at Gearstrong, the lead negotiator of a cluster of Neutral colonies, and said, “Intimidating as his presence may be at times, it has its uses.”

June laughed outright. “That’s one way to phrase it, I guess. Negotiations not going well?”

Optimus ex-vented again. “It is the first cycle. We are still busy with the posturing.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It is necessary.” Optimus refrained from glancing at the new addition to the group of negotiators, a mech called Hotstick, who had so far lived up to his designation and considerably slowed them down by getting into several spats with Starscream. “I nevertheless look forward to the last cycle. And speaking of the negotiations, I am afraid I will have to return to my duties.”

“Of course,” June smiled. “You do your job and don’t worry about Bill. I’ll put him in his place.”

He could not help but chuckle a little. “Thank you, June.”

“Anything for you.” She winked. “Let me know when you’re done with the negotiations, we’ll have a nice, long call!”

“I will. Until then, June!”

“Bye, Optimus!”

The call disconnected and Optimus put the comm.pad back in his subspace, straightening his struts and preparing for his return to the group of diplomats, where Prowl was carefully keeping Starscream and Hotstick as far from each other as possible.

Optimus took two steps and stopped. Something was – off with the group of differently sized cushioned seats the group had congregated at. There was something underneath the chair Starscream had elegantly draped himself across.

Oh.

Optimus strode over, a genuine smile on his face. “Gentlemechs, would you agree this is a good time to return to the conference room?”

Gearstrong, who was keeping Hotstick by his side, nodded, probably grateful as well that he could now put his aide back on a chair far away from Starscream. “Certainly, Prime.”

Starscream stood, smirked at Hotstick and pranced into the conference room. Prowl, emitting exasperation, immediately followed. Optimus waited, smiling and nodding at the delegates as they filtered back into the room until he was the only one left outside.

He bent down quickly and retrieved the mistletoe – another blue one – from its hiding place. Transferring it into his subspace, he strode into the conference room as well, mood considerably brighter already.

* * *

“Dinner went badly?” Megatron said without looking up from his datapad when Optimus dragged himself into their parlour.

He slumped down beside his conjunx and Megatron considerately shifted his arm so Optimus could press his helm against his lower belly and shutter his optics. A servo started petting him and he grumbled.

Megatron chuckled. “I told you having Starscream on a team of diplomats is like asking scraplets to play medic.”

“He managed to survive under you for millions of years, he is very smart and he can spot a bad deal from half a planet away,” Optimus replied, optics still shuttered. “And he is a very shrewd strategist.”

Megatron hmph-ed. “Which does not speak in his favour, if you ask me.”

“I’m not asking you.”

There was a short moment of silence and his processor pinged him with an alert that he might need to tread carefully now – and then Megatron started laughing, bending over to press a kiss to Optimus’ helm.

“Seeing as his plans generally involved my demise, I probably am the wrong bot to ask indeed. Oh, Orion. My little sharp-glossaed Prime.”

Optimus relaxed and smiled into Megatron’s plating. “Little?”

“As long as I can carry you, you will remain my little Prime.” The sound of a datapad being put down, then Megatron started shuffling around and Optimus revved his engine when he was mechhandled. “Yes, yes, you poor, put-upon Prime. We’re only going to the berthroom.”

Optimus ex-vented, more in the mood to just stay where he was, but did not object further when Megatron indeed picked him up and carried him into the berthroom. “Have you had dinner?”

Megatron made noise of confirmation. “I went to that Wrecker’s new bar.”

Optimus unshuttered one optic, glancing at Megatron suspiciously. “You. Went to Wheeljack’s bar? Am I going to be reading a headline about you getting into a fight tomorrow?”

Megatron chuckled again. “We did our best to be civil. Soundwave and Jazz were there, too.”

Optimus shuttered the optic again. “Oh. Well then.”

Megatron hummed and deposited Optimus on the berth. “Well then indeed. Now lie still.”

This time he unshuttered both optics. “Why?”

Megatron smirked. “One yellow. One polishing coming right up.”

Optimus could not help the appreciative groan. Having Megatron rub polish into his plating sounded absolutely _wonderful_ right now.

His conjunx sniggered upon hearing the groan. “Optics closed.”

Optimus complied and listened to Megatron rustling while he let himself relax back into the berth. Then came the pressure of the sponge on his armour, and he spread out his arms to make it easier for Megatron to reach them. It got him a chuckle before Megatron obligingly moved to his left arm. Every single plate was carefully coated, even his servo and digits received their share, and Optimus shuddered, delighting in the touch.

Megatron chuffed a kiss to his servo once he finished, then moved to the other arm, engine giving off a soothing purr. Optimus ex-vented, smiled and unshuttered his optics to watch Megatron, frowning in concentration as he worked on his forearm guard, then scowling at something (likely a spot of flaked-off paint). He wanted to reach out and pet Megatron’s helm, but knew it would not be well-received – not when Megatron was focusing so intently on Optimus.

Being fussed over like this was … his engine settled into a contented purr and Megatron looked up, meeting his gaze and then smiling. Another kiss was bestowed to the other servo and Megatron pressed it against his cheek. Kliks ticked by without either of them moving, content to simply look at each other, and then Megatron chuckled, shook himself out of it and returned to his task. “Are you trying to distract me with your pretty optics, Orion Pax?”

Optimus chuckled. “Distract you? I would not dare, Lord Megatron.”

“Are you really not?” Megatron drawled, moving to his servo. “I disagree. I think you are trying to distract me.”

“Oh?” Optimus cocked an optic ridge, intrigued. “Pray tell, how am I distracting your lordship from your task by simply lying here?”

Megatron smirked and nuzzled his servo again. “Hum … let me see. This servo, for instance.”

Optimus bit back on a laugh. “My servo is distracting you?”

“It is a very nice servo. Strong, yet delicate. And these beautiful digits.” Megatron rubbed polish into them. “So strong. So gentle.”

Embarrassment and delight burnt through Optimus’ field. “Uh.”

“A very distracting servo indeed,” Megatron concluded, pressed a final kiss to the servo, smirked at Optimus and moved to his legs. “Not quite as distracting as these beautiful thighs, I have to admit. Yes, Orion Pax, I have discerned your intentions. You are planning to catch my attention with these thighs. So slender.”

The sponge caressed one thigh in question and Optimus laughed, more embarrassed now. “My thighs are nothing special.”

“Agree to disagree,” Megatron said silkily. “They are _quite_ special. So smooth, too. So shiny when polished. So perfectly shaped for wrapping my servos around and hold them.”

“Why, Lord Megatron, am I to assume you have a fancy for my thighs?” Optimus managed, torn between laughter and melting. “Should I keep them covered from now on to avoid distracting you?”

Megatron purred. “Ah, you aim to tease me, I see, by hiding them away and challenging me to expose them.”

“I cannot win, can I?” Optimus did laugh now. “Am I to infer from this that you enjoy being distracted by me?”

Megatron stopped rubbing the polish into his thigh and turned deep red optics on him. “Yes.”

Optimus had to remind himself to vent as Megatron went back to work and moved to his other thigh, then his shins and pedes. Finally he came back up, getting into position to work on Optimus’ chassis.

He took his chance, wrapped one arm around Megatron’s neck and pulled him down into a long, passionate kiss.

“I enjoy being distracted by you, too,” he whispered when he leant back. Megatron smirked.

“Of course you do. I am very nice to look at.”

“Oh, you!” He could not help but laugh at the display of characteristic arrogance. “Was this not about me?”

“Oh, but it _is_ about you!” Megatron looked like the scraplet that found the trash. “Your beauty shines all the brighter compared to mine.”

Optimus groaned, putting a servo over his optics. “Trust you to flatter me while at the same time flattering yourself!”

Megatron stopped, bent down and kissed him again. “I did say you are the prettier one out of the two of us. And together, we are a very pretty couple.”

Optimus traced the edges of the helm with a digit and smiled. “Alright, I’ll let it go. Now, are you going to finish polishing me?”

Megatron sniggered and drew back. “Yes. I can hardly have you walking into the negotiations tomorrow with only one side polished. And while we are at it, I am fully planning to give your windscreens a wipe-down.”

Optimus groaned again. “Must you?”

“Yes.”

“You just want to play with the wipers again.”

Megatron tried to look innocent and failed. “Whatever gave you that idea? I am only concerned about my conjunx looking good.”

“Sure you are,” Optimus said dryly. “It has nothing to do with you being utterly fascinated by how they move.”

“Nothing at all,” Megatron said, and grinned so broadly Optimus shook his helm in fond exasperation.

“Well then, hurry up, and I’ll let you watch them for a bit before we go to recharge.”

Megatron promptly smacked his thigh. “Turn over then, Prime, and let me do your back.”

Optimus complied, laughing. “You are the worst!”

Megatron plopped down on the berth beside him and patted his aft. “You would not change me.”

Optimus smiled into the pillow. “No. I would not.”


	3. 2 blue

The problem with mistletoe was that while it was certainly aesthetically pleasing (and invoked fond memories), it was also highly conspicuous in an environment like Cybertron.

Another problem with mistletoe, and organic material in particular, was that many Cybertronians suffered from a certain organophobia.

That also held true for the Neutral delegation.

“Firewheel,” Optimus said, trying to smile as innocently as he could. “Gearstrong mentioned you were interested in the Matrix.”

The red-and-yellow sports car looked up at him from where he had been frowning at the energon dispenser in the break room set aside for the Neutral delegation, inwardly cursing Megatron and his little schemes. How by Vector Sigma was he supposed to -

“Prime. Yes, I am indeed interested in the Matrix.” The mech left off the dispenser and turned to Optimus, glancing at his windscreens, and Optimus decided that perhaps Megatron had been right in convincing him to clean them, too. (Although that was really completely self-serving – Optimus had yet to figure out why exactly his conjunx was so terribly fascinated by the wipers his Earth altmode came with. On the other servo, if he wanted Megatron to fall into recharge quickly, all he had to do was turn them on and wait for ten kliks, and Megatron was out of it.)

“Starscream has lately been running a series of tests on it,” Optimus offered. “He will be publishing a series of articles on it starting from next deca-cycle, I believe, but perhaps he might be willing to share?”

Firewheel sent another glance at the windscreens and Optimus considered a delicate smokestack puff to remind him of where Optimus’ optics were. The Neutral, however, was a trained diplomat, and the gaze did not linger for more than a nano-klik. “Actually, I was wondering whether you might have any interest in cooperating with our scientists on a project.”

“I’m afraid Cybertron cannot spare its Prime at present,” Starscream said sweetly, materialising out of thin air by Optimus’ side. “But I would be _delighted_ to share some of my findings. I may have the pre-prints on a datapad in my subspace.”

Firewheel hesitated for a nano-klik only. “I would gladly hear your conclusions.”

::You owe me, Prime:: Starscream commed smugly while saying aloud, “On second thought, our conference room has a nice, big screen perfect for presentations. The break should be just long enough for me to show you the most relevant slides from my recent presentation on the subject.”

::And tell your conjunx to at least keep his organic perversions away from our diplomatic guests in the future. I doubt they would like to know how the two of you figure out who will be spiking whom::

Optimus suppressed a deep ex-vent and spent a klik contemplating Starscream, Megatron and Megatron and Starscream’s relationship, and then decided he did not want to know how Starscream had figured out what role the mistletoe played in his and Megatron’s relationship. He was almost certain he would not like the answer.

::I appreciate your help:: he replied instead, opting for retaining his dignity by ignoring the rest of Starscream’s comm, watching as he steered Firewheel out of the break room and left Optimus to his own devices.

Then he bent over the energon dispenser, ex-vented and used two very careful digits to retrieve the mistletoe nestled in between the softly glowing crystal arrangement on top, and decided that he did not care that Megatron had at least made sure it was above their Neutral guests’ optic level.

This was not a good hiding place for mistletoe.

* * *

His slight annoyance had not dissipated by the evening, in part thanks to Starscream happily making use of the favour he considered his due.

“How did you do it?” he therefore asked without preamble upon stepping inside their habsuite, and Megatron grunted.

“Keeping Starscream under control is a skill, Optimus, it is nothing that can be acquired in -”

Optimus walked up to the energon preparation area and narrowed his optics at his conjunx. “How did you manage to smuggle mistletoe into the crystal arrangement on top of the Neutral delegation’s break room energon dispenser?”

Megatron suddenly smirked. “Ah. That.”

Optimus huffed. “I am not amused, Megatron. You know that most Neutrals dislike organic matter. Starscream had to help me retrieve it so they didn’t notice it was there.”

“If I can get used to it, they can.” Megatron frowned at whatever he was preparing in the pot. “Give me the rust shavings, will you?”

Optimus walked around the counter, found the rust shavings and said, “Megatron, you know well that the area is meant for the Neutrals and that you aren’t supposed to be in there.”

“Who said I hid it there?” Megatron countered, taking his attention off the dish to press a kiss to Optimus’ cheek. “I’ll deal with Starscream if needs be. How are the negotiations going? Have they stopped posturing yet?”

It was hard to stay on track and annoyed when Optimus really would prefer answering Megatron’s question. “Megatron -”

A smirk was thrown his way. “I promise I did not enter the space.”

Optimus gave up. “It would appear they have. We managed to start on the export tariffs.”

Megatron hummed. “Took them long enough, although I’m certain Starscream _quite_ enjoyed trading verbal punches with, what was his designation? for how long?”

Optimus could not help ex-venting. “Practically since the negotiations started,” he said glumly, trying to suppress his annoyance at so many joors spent on petty bickering. Of course, it was traditional, and in a species as long-lived as they were, there was hardly reason to take offence at bots taking their time. Yet his time on Earth had taught Optimus that even if one had all the time in the world, some actions were simply a waste of it – and as far as he was concerned, the traditional posturing that was as much part of the Neutral negotiations as the visit to the Crystal Gardens and the rebuilt Hall of Records counted as a waste of time. Really, they had ended the Great Cybertronian Civil War so the surviving Cybertronians could stop worrying about conflict, and half of the Neutral colonies they traded with still insisted on making sure they knew exactly what would be waiting for them, should they (Megatron) decide to attack instead of trade.

He ex-vented again, tired just thinking about the continued distrust many Neutrals held for both former Autobots and Decepticons, and Optimus and Megatron’s union in particular.

Servos wrapped around his waist – Megatron really liked doing that – and he was pulled close and kissed. When they parted, Megatron smirked at him again. “Well, the bad news is that there will likely be bickering over dinner as well. The good news is that I think you will enjoy this bickering.”

Optimus opened his intake, reset his optics and said, “What?”

Megatron chuckled. “Two blue, you said last night.”

Optimus raised an optic ridge. He remembered. “And?”

There was a short flicker of annoyance in Megatron’s field, quickly suppressed. “So I invited Ratchet to dinner.”

Optimus reset his optics again.

Processed.

Reset his optics once more. “You invited Ratchet to dinner?”

Megatron was back to smirking at him. “And whether you believe it or not, he said yes and will be here in – a few kliks, probably.”

Optimus suddenly felt completely overwhelmed. “Oh!” he vented. “Oh, Megatron!”

His conjunx chuckled as Optimus attempted to crush him in a hug. “Yes, well, we’ll see what you’ll have to say once the evening is over.”

Optimus kissed him, his field practically alight with happiness. “You know I could have just met him somewhere as usual.”

Megatron shrugged and did not even try to hide his smugness. Optimus wisely kept to himself that he would probably not be as smug after dealing with Ratchet for the duration of dinner; he appreciated the gesture too much. “Yes, well, he has only been to this place once, and I’m sure he wants to see for himself that I’m not keeping you chained to the berth.”

“Megatron,” Optimus chided, wryly wondering for a moment whether _he_ was going to survive dinner, caught between his old – and still suspicious – friend and his comparatively new conjunx, who could agree with Ratchet on exactly two things:

1) Optimus was too nice for his own good, and

2) the respective other was a pain in the aft who, for all they cared, could just as well rust in the pit.

“You are not planning to bicker with him throughout dinner, are you?” he said, because while it was often entertaining to watch Megatron and Ratchet bicker, Optimus very much did not feel like it right now.

Megatron huffed and kissed him again. “Two blue,” he said and Optimus smiled.

“Thank you, dear-spark.”

The door chimed and Megatron rolled his optics. “That’ll be your guest. Go on, let him in.”

There was a definite spring in his step when Optimus walked to the door, and the fact that Megatron smacked his aft before he could get out of reach only had him smiling brighter when he said, “Hello, Ratchet. Come in, please.”

* * *

“Well, I have to give him that he appears to have learnt some manners,” Ratchet said dryly as the door closed behind Megatron, and Optimus, snuggled into their sofa, ex-vented.

“He did not snap at you even once over dinner, which I count as quite an achievement, so I think he deserves spending the rest of the evening with Soundwave,” he said and Ratchet turned his helm to him and smiled.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop.” The sofa dipped as Ratchet sat down opposite Optimus, crossing his legs and looking at him silently. Optimus smiled back gently, too familiar with his old friend to think that the close scrutiny he was being subjected to spoke of anything but honest concern. His patience was rewarded; finally Ratchet ex-vented again, held out a servo and smiled, too.

“But. I still want to know what you did to convince him to invite me over for dinner. I thought we agreed between the two of us that it was safer for everyone involved if you and I met anywhere but in a habsuite Megatron considers his?”

Optimus chuckled and closed his own servo around Ratchet’s. “It was his idea, actually.”

An optic ridge rose and Optimus nodded at the mistletoe rack. “I traded two of them for a surprise.”

Ratchet huffed, field flickering with amusement. “Well, _now_ I’m really curious. How do two branches of mistletoe relate to Megatron inviting me over to your hab for dinner?”

Optimus chuckled again. “It is a game. In recent stellar cycles, Megatron has started hiding them for me to find while the Neutral negotiations are going on. I can trade them in for surprises from a list he has.”

Ratchet processed that for a moment.

“I’m almost sure that isn’t how the tradition works.”

Optimus could not help but laugh. “No, but I much prefer him hiding branches of mistletoe. I dare not imagine the potential ramifications if he actually brought eggs to Cybertron.”

Ratchet was startled into laughing as well and gave his servo a squeeze. “I concede the point.”

A klik of silence passed, Ratchet’s optics softening as he looked Optimus over again. “I’m guessing the polish is mistletoe-related as well?”

“Yes. One yellow mistletoe stand for a polish.”

Ratchet grinned wryly. “So I am worth two. Good to know. What will three get you? Having Starscream over?”

Optimus was startled into laughing again. “Well, the general idea is to give me things that bring me joy, and I have to admit that I see quite enough of Starscream during the negotiations. I therefore doubt ‘dinner with Starscream’ is on the list.”

Ratchet smirked. “Bumblebee, then.”

Optimus chuckled. “Perhaps.”

One optic ridge went up. “Come now, Optimus, spill. What will three of those get you, if Megatron rates inviting me of all bots over to dinner at two?”

A puff escaped his smokestacks, and of course Ratchet noticed and immediately started sniggering. “Three would not, by any chance, stand for some berth acrobatics?”

“Ratchet, please.”

Another cackle answered. “I may not get an invitation to your berth, unlike other bots I could name, and mind, I really do not need one, but please, Optimus, I know you and I have optics. Megatron doesn’t much like using his spike, does he?”

With Bumblebee, a conversation like this would have embarrassed him, but for Ratchet, Optimus only had a fond ex-vent. “Old friend, sometimes I suspect you only became a medic so you could take an interest in everyone’s interfacing activities without repercussions.”

Ratchet smirked. “So I’m right.”

“I do not know which colour, but yes, I suspect three of one colour will equate Megatron spiking me.” Optimus turned considering optics on the rack. “I will have to carefully consider which to trade.”

Ratchet chuckled again. “Ever tried trading four or five? Might get you a free pass to invite whoever you like to your berth.”

Optimus chuckled. “Would you like an invitation after all? That may take more convincing than five branches of mistletoe.”

Ratchet shook his helm, grinning. “I’m good. Also, if you want me in the same berth with Megatron, he’s not going to be the hard one to convince. But I may have heard tales about Jazz coming over to visit?”

Optimus could not help the smile. “Yes, he has been here two times so far.”

“Huh. How’s Megatron coping with a second Autobot in his berth?”

“Quite well so far, but Jazz has made sure to stick to the rules.” Optimus’ smile grew. “It has been a very nice.”

Ratchet patted his servo. “Good, good. I was worried he’d insist on keeping you to himself.”

“He was very amenable to the idea when I first broached the subject, and only wary about Jazz.” Optimus could not quite help the twitch of his intake. “A thoroughly sensible notion where Jazz is concerned.”

That got a laugh out of Ratchet. “That’s for certain! So, Jazz is likely to become a fixture?”

Optimus tilted his helm to the side. “He might. Is there any particular reason you are this interested in our berth this evening?”

Ratchet’s smile dimmed a little. “Well, there’s a reason I’m not usually invited over to dinner, and you’ll forgive me for saying so, Optimus, but the fact that Megatron is willing to let you invite Jazz to join you in berth? Yeah, I’ve been worrying a lot less about you since I heard about it.”

Optimus could not help the ex-vent, melancholy settling in his spark. “Ratchet, you _know_ Megatron would not hurt me. Not any longer.”

Ratchet huffed and looked at the rack. “I heard his promises, and I know you’re perfectly fine, and you’ve been smiling more since we returned to Cybertron than you did in the four million years before that, but – old routines don’t stop running that quickly, Optimus. I worry about you.”

Another ex-vent he could not suppress. “You are not the only one, I am very aware that there is also still a lot of distrust between former Decepticons and Autobots.”

Ratchet gave his servo a squeeze, smiling when Optimus met his gaze. “Wars aren’t forgotten that easily, Optimus, especially wars that lasted four million years. And some of us require a bit more confirmation that the other side really isn’t out to hurt us any longer. Let those of us get used to it, and let us have our little additional confirmations that everything is going well between you and Megatron.”

His gaze wandered to the mistletoe rack again, and despite the melancholy in his spark, Optimus found himself chuckling. “If that is the case, perhaps I should convince Megatron to make our little game public knowledge.”

Ratchet sniggered and squeezed his servo again. “Some ‘leaked’ footage of you, Megatron and Jazz in the berth would do the job just as well. And oh, while you’re at it – get Soundwave to join you, too. For keeping the balance, you know.”

Optimus’ fans clicked on abruptly. “Ratchet!”

All he got in reply was a gleeful cackle. Optimus hid his face in one servo and groaned. Perhaps it was for the best after all if he met Ratchet in restaurants or other public spaces. At least he wouldn’t make suggestions of that kind there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just in case of questions: Optimus and Megatron are Transformer-married (conjunxed), but whether that means exclusivity is up to the two bots in question. There is another story from this series where I get more into the details of how Jazz fits into Optimus and Megatron’s marriage, but I haven’t finished writing that yet …


	4. 1 red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potential warning/spoiler.

One deca-cycle into the negotiations, and Optimus was getting notifications from his interface mod that the amount of charge it was currently holding would do nicely for at least two overloads.

His inclination for interface, on the other servo, was rapidly veering towards zero. Actually, it was probably in the negative numbers right now.

::Ultra Magnus, could you please?:: he commed, too weary to step in and stop Starscream and Hotstick snapping at each other.

“With all due respect, I think we are not getting anywhere like this. Perhaps we should take a break.” Ultra Magnus pushed his chair back, interrupting Starscream in the middle of his sentence and sending him a very stern glance. “Do you agree, Gearstrong?”

The Neutral delegation leader, who had been trying unsuccessfully to rein his own delegation member in, gave a relieved nod. “I think we could all use a break. Actually, why don’t we call it a cycle?”

Starscream smirked, and Optimus quietly sighed to himself. Yes, Gearstrong was going to reprimand Hotstick for starting _yet another_ pointless fight with Starscream (at this stage, Optimus was starting to question Gearstrong’s wisdom in bringing the mech as the third negotiator – he had learnt to appreciate Gearstrong as a moderate, circumspect bot, and this was very much giving him reason to reconsider prior assessments). Technically, it was Optimus’ job to reprimand Starscream for letting Hotstick bait him into said debate, but he was just so tired of it all …

“A splendid idea,” he said placidly, hiding annoyance, exhaustion and frustration, an exercise he was greatly skilled at, thanks to his now-conjunx. “Shall we reconvene one cycle earlier tomorrow instead?”

Because Primus, he wanted these negotiations to be over!

::Sir, is that a good idea?:: Ultra Magnus commed, still frowning at a clearly annoyed Hotstick. ::We are nowhere near finishing today’s projected workload::

::I doubt we will be finishing it either way:: Optimus replied, nodding along Gearstrong’s words, “Certainly, Prime, it will be our pleasure. Gentlemechs, we shall meet you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, and please enjoy the rest of your cycle,” he replied, standing in a gesture of respect as Gearstrong rose. Technically, he did not have to – being the Prime came with the tiny benefit of not having to get up when another dignitary rose, but Optimus preferred to do it this way out of courtesy. At least other Cybertronians understood the subtle implications of this deviation from protocol.

Ultra Magnus and Starscream, of course, were forced to rise with him, which got him a nasty glare from Starscream, but a short, approving brush of Ultra Magnus’s field, and then they were alone in the conference room. Optimus turned his gaze upon Starscream, who immediately scowled. “He was _asking_ for it and you know it, Prime!”

Optimus was so done with this. “Starscream, please meet me tomorrow twenty kliks before negotiations start,” he said and Starscream rolled his optics.

“Oh, _now_ you’re going to send me to, what do the humans call it? The silent step?”

Optimus finally permitted himself the ex-vent that had been longing to escape for at least the last two cycles. “I have neither the patience nor the inclination left to devise a strategy with you about how to tackle Hotstick’s continuous attacks on flightframes.”

Starscream’s wings, high and quivering, dropped into a less aggressive fluffed-out position, and Optimus idly thought that he had, on occasion, observed similar actions on Earth animals, particularly cats. Starscream’s contrary disposition certainly supported the comparison.

“Oh well, in that case …” he drawled and then strode out of the room as well. Ultra Magnus looked at Optimus.

“Sir?”

“If possible, try to come up with a few distractions,” Optimus said, and Ultra Magnus continued staring at him. “Is something else the matter?”

Ultra Magnus cleared his intake. “Sir, no offence intended, but your behavioural patterns today indicate that you are experiencing issues.”

The corner of his intake quirked. Dear Ultra. “I am tired of the bickering, Ultra Magnus. If you can think of any strategy that will allow us to stop Hotstick in his tracks before he gets Starscream riled up again, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Ultra Magnus nodded, his expression changing to what Optimus recognised as his “planning mode”, as Jazz liked to refer to it. “Of course, sir.”

He strode out of the conference room as well and Optimus sat back down, unwilling to face the outside world again yet. Instead, he sent a comm.

::We had to stop negotiations for today. Are you still working?::

It only took a klik before Megatron replied.

::I can leave early::

Optimus let all of the air in his vents escape in a loud puff. ::See you at home in ten kliks?::

Another pause, and then, ::Wheeljack’s bar in 15::

Optimus startled. ::No, Megatron, I am tired, I just want to go home::

::Trust me. Wheeljack’s bar in 15::

Optimus stared at the message for a few kliks, but no explanation came forth. That left two possibilities: either something had happened and Optimus was needed as Prime, or this was the one red mistletoe Optimus had asked to trade in sometime during the morning, when it became clear that Hotstick was again at his game of provoking Starscream.

He hoped it was the latter, and also hoped that Megatron remember that as much as Optimus enjoyed catching up with his former soldiers, he was not going to be happy to be dragged into a bar full of other Cybertronians at present.

* * *

“Optimus!” Bulkhead said, beaming at him. “You’re looking tired.”

Optimus smiled at him and tried to pull himself together. “A little.”

“I wouldn’t have any patience for those negotiations,” Bulkhead said, frank and straight-forward as usual, and Optimus could not help but smile again.

“It is my duty as Prime.”

“Don’t mean you gotta _like_ it!” Wheeljack appeared from some room Optimus suspected was the kitchen and immediately proceeded to step out behind the bar, smirking at Optimus. “Well then, your conjunx is already waiting for you.”

Optimus reset his optics and looked around the spacious bar, dotted with a few small groups of bots. “He is?”

“Yep, upstairs. Follow me.”

Optimus nodded at Bulkhead and followed Wheeljack, thoroughly confused even if relieved that apparently the plan did not involve him and Megatron having some engex in the bar itself. Instead, Wheeljack lead him into a lift which took them to the next level of the building, where -

Well, this was strange. There were three doors off to each side, each showcasing a different landscape which, if Optimus was not very mistaken, was in actual fact located in Japan on Earth.

“Wheeljack?”

“Megatron asked for the Fuji room,” Wheeljack said brightly, touching the door chime to the left of the room. “I’ll be up with your order in a bit.”

And he disappeared before Optimus could ask anything more, but from the inside, he heard Megatron calling for him to enter, so he did.

And found himself in a room that was made up mostly of a huge oil basin set into the floor. Megatron was standing in another door, dripping solvent onto the tiled floor, obviously fresh out of the shower. He smiled upon seeing Optimus and strode over, field conveying his delight. “Optimus.”

“Megatron.” Optimus looked around the room, finding that big vidscreens set into the walls were displaying more Earth landscapes, and he thought he could also hear soft chiming. “What is this?”

Megatron looked at the vidscreens as well. “Would you prefer images of Cybertron? I figured you might enjoy the Earth landscapes they offer. Those Wreckers tell me there are more and more bots who have taken a liking to them, although I will be quite fine with Cybertronian landscapes.”

“No, I mean -” Optimus gestured around, still bewildered. “What is this place? Why is there an oil bath?”

Megatron caught his servo and started leading him in the direction of the room that most likely contained a solvent shower. “Apparently, it is common on Earth to sit in hot water when meeting friends, or so I am told. This place was built in the likeness of places that Wrecker’s little human showed him. I believe they are called ‘onsen’ on Earth.”

Miko. This was a Japanese custom? Optimus let himself be pulled into the solvent shower. “And what do humans do there?”

Megatron turned on the solvent and picked up a little basket containing a variety of sponges and brushes, clearly courtesy of the house. “Apparently some make business deals there, others just enjoy free time with their friends. In any case, this is one of the only places on the planet with an oil bath big enough to hold the two of us.”

The bolt finally dropped and Optimus could not, nor did he actually bother to hide the wave of relief in his field. “Oh.”

Megatron smirked and gave him a little push. “Yes, oh, and now get under the solvent, there are rules here about cleaning before you get into the oil.”

That instruction Optimus would happily comply with, although he hoped that there was also a filtration system keeping the oil clean. Not that he was terribly picky; during the war, they had all had to share oil baths on the rare occasions they managed to have one, but there was something about sharing oil with total strangers as opposed to his own bots that made him a little apprehensive.

Megatron chuckled and kissed his finial. “Worrying again, Orion Pax? No need, I asked them to fill the basin with new oil for us.”

Optimus turned his helm and pressed a kiss to Megatron’s cheek. “Thank you, dear-spark.”

“Only the best for my little Prime.” The doorbell chimed. “That’ll be my order. Clean yourself and then join me outside.”

Optimus did as he was told to the sounds of Megatron talking to Wheeljack and the soft clinking in the other room. When he emerged, scrubbed a little more vigorously than normal, Megatron was just finished setting out a range of small cubes and dishes around the oil basin, and Optimus felt his optics go wide.

“All of that is for us?” he asked, disbelief blatantly obvious in his voice, as he took in the gelled energon squares, rust sticks, energon dips and several types of mineral shavings he had not had in – a long, long time.

Megatron smirked. “That Wrecker is a better cook than anyone could have expected.”

Optimus moved closer, kneeling down beside Megatron. “Wheeljack or Bulkhead? Megatron, please do start calling them by their proper designations.”

“Bulkhead,” Megatron relented, then pointed at the basin. “Now, inside. We are not renting this room to sit on the side of the basin and eat.”

Optimus gave him a wry look, but complied and almost moaned then the oil wrapped around his legs, soft and warm and gentle and, _oh Primus,_ he needed this.

Megatron came in after him and proceeded to sit down on the floor of the basin, the oil coming up to the upper part of his chassis. Optimus followed his example and did moan quietly when the oil also wrapped around his chassis. He had forgotten how good oil baths could be. When he and Megatron had moved into their current habsuite, Cybertron had still been struggling quite a bit, and Optimus had insisted that nothing fancy was required. Perhaps he should reconsider that. If Wheeljack could open a bar where there were at least six oil baths, surely no-one was going to object if Optimus had an oil bath installed in their hab?

“Come here,” Megatron said, reaching out and guiding Optimus until he was leaning against his conjunx back-to-front, the purr of Megatron’s engine against his back armour almost as relaxing as the oil they were currently sitting in. “Now. Which of the troubles are not classified?”

Optimus ex-vented and let himself sink further back against Megatron as big servos started stroking his plating. “Hotstick appears to have a grudge against flightframes and Vos, and Starscream, of course, is not happy.”

“Mhm.” The servos traced over his thighs. Optimus opened them willingly, enjoying how the oil made them glide over his plating. “I gather this is not mere posturing?”

“I do not believe it is. Gearstrong has been trying to rein him in, with little success so far.” Optimus ex-vented, shuttering his optics and letting his attention rest on how Megatron was tracing the armour seams on his lower belly. “I do not understand why Gearstrong brought him in the first place. Firewheel has been a delegate two times already, but Hotstick is here for the first time, and I just cannot understand why Gearstrong would bring him. He seems more intent on provoking us than on negotiating with us.”

“Perhaps that is what he was sent here to do?” Megatron suggested, taking one of Optimus’ servos and tracing the digits with careful claws. “There are many in the Neutral colonies who would like to return to the caste system. Perhaps he was sent here to evaluate how much of a chance they would stand.”

“I will never permit it.”

Megatron chuckled into his audial. “One can try. Hush. I know you would rather end diplomatic relations with the Neutral than let them bring back such views.”

Optimus let a deep vent escape from his smokestacks. “This is a new age. Why do they have to cling to the old ways?”

“Because, for many of them, the old ways were fairly comfortable and profitable. Enough of that now. We are here so you can not think about all of that. Here, try this.”

Something was pressed against his intake and Optimus opened it without bothering to unshutter his optics. Megatron was right, they were here so Optimus could enjoy himself, and he was fully intending on doing so.

Rich, full flavour burst over his glossa, iron with something more tangy, and he eagerly accepted it. Megatron chuckled into his audial again. “Good?”

“Mhm.”

“Good. How about this, then?”

A rust stick this time, coated in some kind of crystal. Optimus could have engaged his sensors to determine what exactly it was, but he could not be bothered. “Tasty.”

“I certainly hope so. Try this.”

This stick was made of mineral, and dipped in mercury?

“Another.”

Megatron’s laughter rumbled deep in his chassis. “As my conjunx wishes.”

* * *

By the time Optimus unshuttered his optics again to accept the cube of what Megatron informed him was called “enermiso” and apparently a creation of the chef, he was not, actually, in need of fuel any longer, having been fed a wide variety of gelled energon squares, rust and mineral sticks and more different dips than he could recall. But the food was here and it was _good,_ so why not indulge?

Megatron was nibbling on rust sticks now as well, watching Optimus from amused optics as he curiously inspected the dishes and licked different dips off his digits. Looking at him, Optimus was suddenly reminded of an Earth holovid he had once watched with June, and without giving himself time to reprocess, he picked up a mineral stick, dipped each end into his favourite dip – some dark red concoction that he would definitely have to ask Bulkhead about – and turned to Megatron. “Open your intake.”

Megatron paused, looked at the stick and set down his cube. “Oh, do you want to feed me now?”

Optimus smiled, feeling just a little giddy. “Wait and see. And shutter your optics.”

Megatron complied and Optimus carefully put one end of the stick in his intake. And then, before Megatron could eat all of it, he dove forward, catching the other end with his own intake and biting down on it.

::Optimus?::

::Keep eating::

It took less than a klik for their intakes to meet approximately in the middle of the mineral stick, and Optimus was thrilled to bits when Megatron opened his intake without complaint to welcome Optimus’ glossa inside.

::What a clever little trick you have hit upon, Orion Pax:: Megatron commed, already wrapping his arms around Optimus and pulling him closer and atop his conjunx. ::I must remember this::

::Mhm:: Optimus agreed, deciding against informing Megatron where the inspiration came from (at least not now, he had better things to do) and devoting his attention instead to the important task of kissing Megatron thoroughly.

Very thoroughly.

For several kliks.

::Correct me if I am wrong, but might my conjunx by any chance be looking for a frag?:: Megatron finally commed, amusement thick in his field. ::I shall happily oblige, but I do believe fragging in the oil bath will get us kicked out, Prime or not::

Optimus, whose fans had clicked on already several kliks ago, ran his servos over the delightful aft his conjunx was in possession of, only made a non-committal noise through their kiss. Megatron chuffed some warm air against him. ::Shall we return home?::

For a moment, Optimus considered it, and then he recalled the dishes still sitting on the tiles and just how _nice_ the oil was and separated from Megatron with a little ex-vent. “No, dear-spark, no. I would much rather stay.”

Megatron’s optic ridges rose. “Well, that certainly is a compliment to your former soldiers! So taken by their idea that you will forego an overload that I suspect your HUD is telling you you should have.”

Optimus chuckled, turning his attention back to the dishes. “It is, but I would hate for all of this to go to waste.”

Megatron studied him for a moment with an inscrutable expression and then suddenly stood, oil dripping off of him. “Come, I have an idea.”

Optimus looked up, trying to ignore how his optics wanted to linger over Megatron’s interface panel. “You are right, it will get us kicked out, and I would not want Bulkhead and Wheeljack getting into trouble for something we did.”

Megatron smirked. “The house rules only state that one is not allowed to do anything that spoils the oil. There is nothing in there regarding the solvent shower.”

Oh Primus. His HUD immediately brought up the notification that his interface mod would like to have a word with him.

“Megatron, we cannot -”

His conjunx smirked down at him. “There will be no traces. We can easily clean the shower before we leave. And we can return to the oil bath afterwards and have the rest of our dinner.”

Optimus should probably not have said yes, but the thought of getting rid of his overcharge and getting to snuggle with Megatron in the oil bath? It was simply too tempting. And besides, it was not like Wheeljack had never interfaced in places he was very much not supposed to … like the command staff washracks. Optimus knew that for a fact, because Jazz had laughed for several kliks when showing Ultra Magnus the proof.

Either peace or being conjunxed to Megatron were having an effect on him, Optimus thought wryly as he followed Megatron into the shower. He could console himself with the knowledge that Ratchet would approve, at least, and probably laugh for several kliks as well when – if – Optimus ever told him.

The prickle of the solvent on his armour and the bits of protoform it could reach was already very nice, but Megatron pressing against him and kissing him hungrily was even better. Optimus wrapped his arms around him and gave himself over to the sensations of careful claws teasing seams and wires, slowly but surely making their way between his legs, where they caressed the interface panel for a moment before Megatron pressed against it and growled “open” into Optimus’ intake.

With a delighted shudder, he did, and the claws started pricking at the not-yet-extended mod, Megatron letting out steam when he realised what Optimus wanted. “Oh, you tease!” he growled and then sank to his knees, tipping Optimus back against the shower wall. He caught himself, pressing his servos against the slightly cooler tiles, and puffed out steam himself.

Then Megatron’s glossa stroked over the connector clusters of the flat-folded mod and Optimus’ fans let out a screech as they jumped higher.

Megatron smirked against his mesh and set to work in earnest, dragging his flat glossa over the plane of the mod again. “Unfold for me, Orion Pax,” he murmured, and Optimus gave in and finally sent the command for his valve to unfold, and oh, Primus, it was _so good_ to feel Megatron’s glossa licking into him, touching every connector cluster as they were revealed by the unfolding mesh one by one.

And then the claw pushed inside alongside the glossa, and Optimus bucked against Megatron’s face. “Megatron!”

A second claw replaced the glossa for a moment as Megatron tore himself away to say, “Yes, Orion?”, and Optimus moaned. There was something so thrilling, yet so wonderful about having Megatron’s claws inside him, gently raking over connector clusters and oh-so-sensitive metalmesh, their danger almost completely negated by the care his conjunx took.

When the moan stayed his only answer, Megatron returned his glossa to Optimus’ valve, lightly flicking it against the connector clusters at the front while his claws danced over the ones on the back, doubtlessly drawing little sparks from them as they did so. Optimus clenched his servos helplessly against the tiles behind him, hips moving restlessly. “Yes, yes, Mega-aahh-”

And then the glossa started thrusting, a thick, warm intrusion, and Megatron commed ::Look at me::, and when Optimus unshuttered his optics and lowered his helm, Megatron was staring up at him with glowing red optics, his other servo disappearing between his own spread legs and almost certainly buried in his own valve.

Optimus’ vocaliser shorted out as overload shook him (which was probably a good thing given where they were) and his hips snapped forward into the thrusts of glossa and claws. His fans whined, and he only just managed to stay on his pedes.

Megatron gently withdrew, removing his other servo from his own valve, and guided him down to sit on the tiles. Optimus reached for him. “Let me -”

It took only a few strokes of Optimus’ digits against that particular connector cluster running along a caliper for Megatron’s charge to crest as well, and he caught the long, low moan with his intake by kissing Megatron.

Two kliks passed by with only their fans running before Megatron stirred and grinned up at him. “Well then. Shall we clean up and enjoy the rest of our afterglow in the oil bath?”

Optimus chuckled softly. “I would like nothing better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sex in a public place (i.e. restaurant), although in a private location. So not public, just not – at home ^^


End file.
